drugs and girls.
Gino Canzonari's son Joey was a comer, and he was smart with computers. He lived in the Council Crest section, another exclusive area. Bolan had looked up the address in a roadside phone booth. To Bolan, it was ironic that the creep's address echoed the very slimiest thing about his father, the Don, which was the Council of Kings. Bolan figured a visit might be worthwhile.
Just after dark, the nightstalker was sitting in his car a few doors down the street from the Joey Canzonari residence.
The big house was walled, but Bolan noticed no gate or guards or dogs. Joey blended in with his rich neighbors. No need for conspicuous security.
Except lights. Floodlights bathed the front and sides of the two-story house, and the two Mercedes in the driveway, A half-hour after Bolan arrived, a man in his twenties left the estate in the 380 SL and drove away. Ten minutes later a woman emerged from the house and put the Mercedes 300 Diesel into the garage, opening and closing the door by remote control.
Twenty minutes later another woman left by the side door, walked to the street, and drove away in an old Chevy. The day help was leaving.
The rain had stopped. Mack shed his raincoat and sport coat, donned the combat harness over his black long-sleeved jersey, replaced the sport coat.
Seeing no one on the street, he darted into the yard beside the Canzonari place, ran to the back and leaped the six-foot stone wall. In the Canzonari backyard he moved to the rear of the house and away from the lights. It seemed too easy — the back door was unlocked.
Bolan went through it into a family room. He heard a television near the front of the house. He was looking for a den or home office.
Somewhere a baby cried.
"No! Cindy! Not now!" It was a woman's frustrated cry.
Hearing the woman walk toward him on the carpet, her slippers slapping against her feet, he slid between a couch and the wall. She went up some stairs. He heard her hushing a child, singing softly for a few minutes. Then she came downstairs.
"Oh, damn! It's over and I missed the ending age." More sounds came from what he guessed was the living room. A cocktail shaker was rattled and the television channel was changed.
Bolan edged down the hall until he could see into the living room. A blond woman with a drink in her hand sat on a sofa, looking at the TV. Her dress was open. He moved back through the hall to the stairs and ascended quickly on silent feet.
He found six rooms: the master bedroom, two other bedrooms, a bathroom, a playroom, a den-office with three computers in it.
Two of the computers were up and running and connected by modems to the telephone. A printer evidently linked to the computers came to life and chattered out something on tractor-feed paper.
Bolan carefully turned on the light. He examined the computer setup more fully. He figured it duplicated a system elsewhere, so Joey could work there or at an office.
What could he take that would not be missed? This was a soft probe, and Bolan wanted to leave no clue that anyone had visited. Stealing software and data disks would be too obvious. What else?
The wastebasket. He searched it carefully and found a banana peel, several accordion-folded printouts of figures and balance sheets and some scraps of paper with scribbling on them.
One torn and crumpled sheet bore two words in pencil: Karatsu Maru. He put the paper in his pocket.
He returned quietly to the computers, looking for something of value. He found it. On one of the pullout boards under the terminal were three sheets with signs, symbols and a list of phrases and numbers that looked like a code.
Determined to leave no trace of his visit, the Executioner found a blank piece of paper and a pencil and copied down twenty words and phrases and numbers. The two words he wrote at the top of the sheet spelled good news.
They were: "Access Codes." Finally Bolan copied the phone number on the handset near the modem and put the paper in
Gino Canzonari's son Joey was a comer, and he was smart with computers. He lived in the Council Crest section, another exclusive area. Bolan had looked up the address in a roadside phone booth. To Bolan, it was ironic that the creep's address echoed the very slimiest thing about his father, the Don, which was the Council of Kings. Bolan figured a visit might be worthwhile.
Just after dark, the nightstalker was sitting in his car a few doors down the street from the Joey Canzonari residence.
The big house was walled, but Bolan noticed no gate or guards or dogs. Joey blended in with his rich neighbors. No need for conspicuous security.
Except lights. Floodlights bathed the front and sides of the two-story house, and the two Mercedes in the driveway, A half-hour after Bolan arrived, a man in his twenties left the estate in the 380 SL and drove away. Ten minutes later a woman emerged from the house and put the Mercedes 300 Diesel into the garage, opening and closing the door by remote control.
Twenty minutes later another woman left by the side door, walked to the street, and drove away in an old Chevy. The day help was leaving.
The rain had stopped. Mack shed his raincoat and sport coat, donned the combat harness over his black long-sleeved jersey, replaced the sport coat.
Seeing no one on the street, he darted into the yard beside the Canzonari place, ran to the back and leaped the six-foot stone wall. In the Canzonari backyard he moved to the rear of the house and away from the lights. It seemed too easy — the back door was unlocked.
Bolan went through it into a family room. He heard a television near the front of the house. He was looking for a den or home office.
Somewhere a baby cried.
"No! Cindy! Not now!" It was a woman's frustrated cry.
Hearing the woman walk toward him on the carpet, her slippers slapping against her feet, he slid between a couch and the wall. She went up some stairs. He heard her hushing a child, singing softly for a few minutes. Then she came downstairs.
"Oh, damn! It's over and I missed the ending age." More sounds came from what he guessed was the living room. A cocktail shaker was rattled and the television channel was changed.
Bolan edged down the hall until he could see into the living room. A blond woman with a drink in her hand sat on a sofa, looking at the TV. Her dress was open. He moved back through the hall to the stairs and ascended quickly on silent feet.
He found six rooms: the master bedroom, two other bedrooms, a bathroom, a playroom, a den-office with three computers in it.
Two of the computers were up and running and connected by modems to the telephone. A printer evidently linked to the computers came to life and chattered out something on tractor-feed paper.
Bolan carefully turned on the light. He examined the computer setup more fully. He figured it duplicated a system elsewhere, so Joey could work there or at an office.
What could he take that would not be missed? This was a soft probe, and Bolan wanted to leave no clue that anyone had visited. Stealing software and data disks would be too obvious. What else?
The wastebasket. He searched it carefully and found a banana peel, several accordion-folded printouts of figures and balance sheets and some scraps of paper with scribbling on them.
One torn and crumpled sheet bore two words in pencil: Karatsu Maru. He put the paper in his pocket.
He returned quietly to the computers, looking for something of value. He found it. On one of the pullout boards under the terminal were three sheets with signs, symbols and a list of phrases and numbers that looked like a code.
Determined to leave no trace of his visit, the Executioner found a blank piece of paper and a pencil and copied down twenty words and phrases and numbers. The two words he wrote at the top of the sheet spelled good news.
They were: "Access Codes." Finally Bolan copied the phone number on the handset near the modem and put the paper in
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